Feather in His Cap

by Keith Gapinski

local area. You engaged me by post.” Myram pursed his lips and made mad facial gestures in the direction of Blugo behind him.

  The lady made an ‘o’ of recognition and nodded. “Oh, yes, my guide.”

  Myram heard a soft growling behind him. He spun to face Blugo, “I’m afraid I will have to leave you now, Blugo. Terribly sorry about the whole misunderstanding with Prilla.”

  He grabbed an arm that felt like solid rock and tried to steer the troll back into the Heathen’s swinging doors. “I really shouldn’t keep you from Prilla any longer. I’m sure she’s got a cold mug for you in there.”

  Blugo shook himself loose. “Me not done smashing you!”

  He proffered an insistent fist directly in front of Myram’s nose.

  “I don’t believe I can allow you to perform an act of violence on my guide,” the lady said, with just the tiniest hint of uncertainty.

  “Oh yeah?” Blugo glared at her and grabbed Myram by the scruff. “How you stop Blugo?”

  “Have I forgotten to introduce myself? You must forgive me, it has been such a long journey.” She gestured at the ruby brooch that secured her deep red robes. “I am the Vespos Anni, of the Temple of Fuerigos in Westmarch.”

  Myram felt the troll’s fingers loosen their crushing grip, one by one, from the back of his neck. Blugo made some kind of complicated gesture and bowed.

  “I sorry, Vespos,” he said in a quiet voice, eyes turned downward.

  Myram stumbled over to stand next to Anni, marveling at the troll’s sudden obeisance.

  “It just…” Blugo’s toe scraped at the dirt as he struggled to find the courage to continue speaking.

  “Is there something you wish to say?” Anni asked him.

  “This man, he kiss Prilla.”

  Anni gave Myram a questioning look.

  “Actually, she kissed me.” He crossed his heart with his finger for good measure. “A misunderstanding caused by, embarrassingly, too much wine on my part and the seductive lure of musical theater.”

  Anni bit her lip, considering.

  She turned back to Blugo. “A misunderstanding, then.”

  Myram gave Blugo a solemn look and nod.

  “And I’m sure, as a gentleman, Master Scribewell would be quite happy to provide recompense in the form of enough coins for a round of refreshments for you, your lady, and your friends.”

  “What?” Myram said.

  Anni turned to glare at him, a single eyebrow whipping upwards. Myram suddenly felt like Anni might be the most dangerous person he could cross tonight.

  With a grumble, he dug the coins out of his already light coin purse and handed them to Blugo.

  “Thank you, Vespos,” Blugo said as he bowed to her. He flashed Myram a threatening mouthful of large, broken teeth and then stomped back up the steps and into the inn.

  Myram looked down at his slightly crumpled hat and sighed. With a gentle flourish, he snapped it back to a fair approximation of its original shape, brushed out the plume, and set it upon his head. Finally, one thing was right with the world.

  “It’s…quite a hat. I can see why you’d miss it.” Anni gave him an uncomfortable smile.

  “Thanks to you, my lady, I will not have to miss it. I owe you a great debt, I suppose.”

  “Fuerigos calls me to serve,” Anni bowed her head to him.

  Myram had heard of Fuerigos, Lord of Fire. A big-time deity tasked with providing the fire that warmed the hearth, cooked the food, and granted illumination. But fire also burned, which meant the god’s disfavor was often associated with mobs with torches and all sorts of cataclysmic rains from the heavens. Myram had no particular association with any gods right now, but, if he were to choose one to worship, it would probably be a less volatile one.

  “So you’re a priestess of the fire god, then?”

  “I’m a Vespos, actually.”

  “Vespos?” he asked. “As in…?”

  “Keeper of the Consecrated Illumination,” she explained. “It is the duty of the Vespos to keep the sacred flames burning in the temples across the land.”

  “There’s a temple to the burning god here near Favarat, is there?”

  “Not a temple, no, but a shrine, not far from here, near the base of the mountain. I have been called there.”

  “I’m not surprised the fire god would be interested in Mount Gargax, what with all the smoke spewing and ground shaking lately.”

  Anni looked worriedly up at the mountain. The massive, dark shadow of Mount Gargax hung in front of the moon, looming over the ramshackle town. The broad summit was surrounded by a haze of black smoke.

  “Is is that bad?” she asked.

  “The locals like to fall back on how it hasn’t erupted in at least a generation, but the haunted look at the very back of their eyes tell me they’re not sure whether that’s good or bad.”

  “So you were kissing the barmaid goodbye, then?”

  “As I believe I mentioned before, Prilla kissed me. And what’s wrong with kissing anyway? How was I to know there was a love-sick troll watching?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Anni said with a shrug. “As a Consort of the Crimson Forever, I do not partake.”

  “Wait … consort? You’re married to the fire god?”

  “Vespos are selected at a very young age and are betrothed to the fire god to ensure their absolute devotion to their duties. Speaking of duty, I really must be going if I’m going to reach the shrine in time.”

  “Wait, you’re not going to walk? To the base of the mountain? At night? Surely you should wait for first light?”

  “I shall be fine,” Anni said, with a determined smile. She spun a hand in the air and conjured a small ball of glowing yellow light that hovered over her shoulder like a pet bird. “Thank you for your concern.”

  Anni made a complicated gesture that Myram took to be a blessing upon him from the flame god.

  The coachman settled a large case next to Anni with a thumping squelch and made his own holy gesture of extending an empty palm.

  “Oh, dear, where have I put my purse?” Anni patted at her robes.

  Myram looked back at the inn doorway, with its warm, inviting glow. Inside, someone started a jaunty reel on a fiddle, and the drunken crowd sang along. Myram felt the pull of the hearth, the jaunty tune, and the wine. Then he heard the broken bassoon voice of Blugo join in the song.

  He turned and dropped the last of his coins into the coachman’s palm.

  “Very generous, guv!” The coachman tipped his cap and wandered off.

  “That was very kind, but there really was no need,” Anni said.

  “Best to keep with the story we told Blugo, my lady. A guide you engaged and a guide you shall have. If you’re to get to your shrine before dark, you’re going to need help with this,” Myram hauled up the leather case the coachman had set next to Anni. With a groan, he settled the heavy case over his shoulder by the straps.

  “I can manage,” Anni protested.

  “Nonsense,” Myram said. “I feel an onus to the fire god for delivering me from the wrath of Blugo. And you need someone to carry your case, so I’d say we’ve been moved in the same direction.”

  “Onward!” he croaked, and began the march towards the mountain.

  They weren’t far out of town before Myram was silently cursing every heavy step along the rutted track up the mountainside. Anni kept just ahead of him, setting an unrelenting pace. He lumbered along behind through a tangle of thorny branches that seemed intent on ripping her heavy travel case from his back. Strange animal calls hooted, bellowed, and buzzed out of the forest all around them. At irregular intervals the feral chorus was drowned out by an odd, low howl that might have been the wind. Yes, definitely either the wind or some huge, slavering beast that was about to crash through the trees at them intent on having a nice, wine-infused bard for dinner.

  “You do know the way to the shrine?” he asked Anni.

  “Don’t worry. I’ve never been there myself,” she sai
d. “But I have seen a map.”

  The mountain shook vigorously, throwing them both into wild stumbles as they fought to stay on their feet. The shaking stopped but Myram continued to wobble back and forth under the heavy pack until Anni ran up and steadied him.

  “Do you need to rest?” she asked him.

  Myram settled the heavy case next to him and eyed it askance.

  “You have a terribly heavy wardrobe,” he said around gasping breaths.

  “My case does not contain garments. It contains…”

  She paused, looking for the right word.

  “…implements,” she finished.

  “Implements?”

  “Yes,” Anni said. “My duty as a Vespos requires certain…implements.”

  “Your duty to keep the sacred fires burning. And that’s why you’re making a pilgrimage to a shrine located at the base of an active volcano to…light a candle?”

  Anni gave him an offended look. “Do not make light of my holy duty. The sacred flame is not some votive candle. It is the vision and passion of Fuerigos emanating upon his followers into every temple.”

  Myram shook his head, still grinning, perhaps a little too much. Anni turned and marched off through the trees. He hefted up her bag and jogged heavily after her.

  “I meant no disrespect, but the closer we get to the mountainside, the thicker the smell of brimstone, the more I think we’d both be better off at the inn with drinks in our hands.”

  Anni stopped, folded her arms, and gave him a stern look. “The way ahead may be treacherous and must be covered quickly. I won’t be troubled if you choose to turn around here. Your help thus far has more than paid any debt to me for my assistance with your troubles back in town.”

  “Blugo was hardly any trouble.”

  “That troll was very large.”

  “But very dumb.”

  “Intelligence isn’t a factor in the force behind a blow.”

  “But it can be quite a good shield, I’ve found.”

  Anni sniffed. “You weren’t smart enough not to kiss his woman.”

  “Prilla isn’t his woman. At least not according to Prilla. She’s very independently-minded. Practically cosmopolitan for Favarat.” Myram waved a finger at Anni. He wanted to make his point very clear. “And she kissed me.”

  Myram thought he saw the slightest hint of a blush cross Anni’s face.

  “I guess a Vespos wouldn’t understand that,” he added.

  “When one has a holy duty, one does not have much time for carousing in taverns.”

  Myram grinned. “Carousing in taverns is my holy duty.”

  “Hmph. Minstrel.” She sniffed haughtily.

  “I’m no mere tavern clown, my lady. I’m a playwright! From my pen I painted a rich masterpiece of morality and the human condition out of the sweat, sawdust, and light that is the theater. Why, The Unicorn Ball, was the most celebrated event in the history of White Lamp Way.”

  Anni squinted at him. “So, if you’re so famous, what were you doing in that inn? Why aren’t you weaving your dream worlds on a big stage, instead of singing for your supper in a tiny mountain town whilst enticing starry-eyed serving wenches to kiss you?”

  “I-I’m looking for inspiration.” He rubbed at his unkempt, stubbly chin. “Immersing myself in the thick, steaming soup of the common populace. Learning their hopes, their fears, their smells. Making myself one of them so I can…can…”

  A hot, honest voice in his head accused him of just wanting to drink himself stupid in every inn between here and the faerie kingdoms of Ludmist.

  “My quill ran out,” he mumbled.

  “I’m sorry?” Anni asked.

  Myram sighed.

  “The play’s run was ending. Actors, stagehands, everyone involved was looking to me for what to do next. They were all waiting for me to create the next masterpiece. But I had nothing. Not a single good idea. I spent a lot of time doing the part of writing that consists of imbibing quite a bit of wine while staring at a blank page. My patron gave me the hat to help me. She said this quill was pure phoenix and would bring me the fiery blessing of inspiration. With it, I would do the next great thing.”

  Myram ran a hand lightly over the feather again. “I couldn’t face disappointing her. Disappointing all of them. So, I took my act on the road, solo. Been a wandering minstrel singing traditional ditties for my mug and plate for the last, oh, three years or so.”

  “The fires of creation require diligent tending,” Anni said with prayer-book conviction.

  Myram started to complain, but Anni’s earnest blue eyes caused a logjam of excuses in his throat. He nodded.

  A few quiet steps on, Anni said, “It is quite a grand hat. Your lady-friend must have thought very highly of you. I’m certain she misses you.”

  “She’s married now. Twice, actually, last I heard, to other big playwrights.”

  “Muses,” Myram added with a sad smile, “Are often more attracted to fame than to the person responsible for it.”

  Anni gasped and took three quick steps ahead of him.

  “As promised,” she said, gesturing at the ground. “We’re here.”

  Just ahead of them, the scrubby trail turned into a path of octagonal red paving stones. The path seemed to glow and waver gently, like the surface of a lake. Anni glided forward along the new road, but Myram hesitated. Magic gave him the willies, holy magic the double-willies with a twist of lime. He leaned close and examined the path. The paving stones were made of glassy rock, and a tiny flame shape seemed to dance in the center of each one. Would an unbeliever like him, he wondered, step upon the sacred path only to be consumed in a flash of fire, leaving nothing but a pair of stylish, smoking boots behind?

  He called to Anni, but she had passed out of view and hearing into the trees ahead.

  “Drat! Why didn’t I run into some servant of Salubria, goddess of sweaty bodies, strong drink, and cheap thrills?”

  He closed his eyes and tested the road with a toe. There was no tingle, sizzle, or even the slightest note of warmth. With a deep breath he hauled the case up high on his shoulder and took off down the path at a trot.

  He found Anni standing at the end of the path, which ran right up to the mountainside. Set into the rock face before them was a huge slab of solid bronze, twice his height. The slab was etched with a frightening scene — at the top, a giant dragon was depicted in mid-roar, toothy jaws gaping. At the base, a crowd of onlookers cowered on their knees, their arms outstretched to the beast above.

  “Not exactly a welcome mat.” Myram licked a finger and tapped it to the metal. No sizzle. The slab was warm, but not uncomfortable to the touch. “Is this the shrine then? Where do we light the fire?”

  “It’s just the door,” Anni said, scanning the surface intently.

  “Oh,” Myram said. “Then the actual shrine is inside the mountain?”

  Anni nodded.

  “I’d say I was afraid of that, but truth to tell the thought was so terrifying I’m certain I blocked out any chance of it popping into my mind.”

  The ground jumped and rolled beneath their feet again, sending various small bits of mountain skittering down the rock face, showering them with dirt and pebbles. When the rumbling and shaking subsided, Myram peered upward, half expecting to see one last boulder plummeting straight at him.

  “At this point, perhaps inside might be marginally preferable. Do we knock?”

  Anni closed her eyes and touched the door. She whispered words that crackled like a fire feasting on good, dry wood. A ruby glow spilled from her hand across the surface of the door, roiling up first into the dragon, then rushing downward through its maw and bursting in a crimson flash over the raised faces of the cowering worshipers. With a whoosh and a blast of hot, smoky air the door slid open.

  Anni turned and gave Myram a confident smile. “Prayer is the key to many locks,” she said.

  “Praise Fuerigos,” Myram whispered. “I think.”

  “Come on,�
� she said, and strode into the doorway.

  A blast of hot, fetid air choked Myram as he stepped into the tunnel. The smooth, black rock around him was worn into a series of rings that shimmered wetly in the ruddy light from the steaming cracks all along the walls. Anni started down and he followed, trying not to dwell on how much he felt like they were moving down a long, dark throat.

  They traveled downward for long minutes, the pain in Myram’s legs tolling like a bell with each step under the heavy pack. The tunnel opened into a massive cavern, easily the size of the Hippodromus Maximus Theater. A circular platform made of bronze projected out several yards from the exit of the tunnel into the open air of the cavern. As Myram stepped out onto it behind Anni, he felt the sting of roasting heat drying and stretching the skin on his face. But for some oil, a few cloves of garlic, and a sprig of rosemary, he understood what it was like to be a capon in the oven.

  Myram’s breath caught in his throat as he gazed out across the cylindrical cave. Above them, high on the opposite wall, the forequarters of a massive dragon erupted from the rock. Its furious black eyes, each as tall as a man, glared down at him. A fiery column of magma rushed from its open jaws and crashed through the space between its reaching fore-claws. Myram’s knees threatened to buckle in fear until he realized the dragon was some sort of statue.

  “Oh, no,” Anni said, and rushed forward to kneel before a dark, lumpy shape sprawled at the edge of the platform. Some wisps of soot-stained cloth flicked softly, carried upwards by the scorching currents of rising air.

  She looked at Myram, horrified. “It’s the caretaker.”

  He dropped the case and stumbled down next to her. Yes, the blackened and charred and, quite possibly, chewed shape before them had almost certainly been human at some point. Every instinct screamed at him to grab her and run.

  Anni jumped up and leaned forward over the edge of the platform.

  “Now wait a minute!” Myram stumbled up to grab her and pull her back. “Wait, wait, wait!”

  “Look!”

  Myram’s head spun as he followed Anni’s gaze down into the depths of the cavern. Far below them was a roiling sea of magma, fed by the massive column of molten rock falling from the dragon’s jaws. Tiny firestorms danced across the surface of the lake of death as it bubbled and hissed and grumbled like a ferocious predator confined in too small a cage.

  “Where’s my case?” Anni asked him.

  “Right back there. But listen, I don’t see what good—”

  Anni grabbed him by the collar and shook him, looking up at him with wide, manic eyes. “Someone has tampered with the Aspect! There’s not much time!”

  “What, the dragon thing?”

  “The sacred flame is missing!”

  “It’s hot enough to melt rock in here and you’re worried about lighting a torch?”

  Anni shoved him infinitesimally closer to the edge and pointed to the magma pool below them.

  “See the metallic ring around the cave wall?”

  And indeed, Myram saw a thick, glittering band pressed into the wall of the chamber, encircling the pool just above the surface of the magma.

  “The pool is rising!”

  “It’s not supposed to do that then? I mean with the dragon spitting fiery rock and all.”

  Anni sighed, exasperated. “My order built this Aspect of Fuerigos and brought